


A Genuine Feeling

by spocklets



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alien Cultural Differences, Coma, Drama, First Contact, M/M, Mind Meld, Misunderstandings, Telepathy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-23
Updated: 2014-12-14
Packaged: 2018-02-22 06:47:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2498516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spocklets/pseuds/spocklets
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[ON INDEFINITE HIATUS]<br/>In Spock’s experience, it was often unwise to attribute the same logic that governed the universe to the behavior of Leonard McCoy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First Contact

**Author's Note:**

> A friend told me it wasn't a good idea to let people know up front if its your first time writing something for a fandom you've never written for. I'm ignoring that advice in order to partially assuage my nerves by letting you guys know I've never written Star Trek fic before. Apologies in advance for anything that doesn't make sense.

It started, as most things tended to, with an ion storm.  It was an otherwise low risk first contact meeting with the high council of a civilization deemed advanced enough for Federation introductions.  The storm had been a surprise, although Spock was beginning to suspect the ship’s sensors were in dire need of inspection for how often away missions were interrupted by unforeseen circumstances.  He would have to have a talk with Mr. Scott upon his return to the Enterprise.  For now, his attentions were focused on the report for the Captain.  While the other officers and crewmen lounged and socialized with the natives, Spock was continuing to be as productive as the situation allowed.  An ion storm simply prevented contact with the ship.  It would not prevent him from continuing his duties.

 

Occasional busts of laughter from the reception hall where the Byotians were entertaining the other members of the Enterprise away team interrupted his focus and dragged his mind away from recording his scientific observations since being on the planet.  The natives of Byota IV were peaceful, but boisterous, and were insistent that regular recreational periods were vital to the continuing dialogues between the council and the Federation representatives.  After weathering several of these recreational periods, Spock had politely excused himself.  He found the Byotian culture fascinating in study, but not quite as much in practice, especially given their tendency to break into elaborate partner dances with whoever was nearest at any given time.

 

He was content to work quietly in the solitude of his temporary quarters until contact was reestablished and his relief sent down to replace him. 

 

“Dammit man, are you still holed up in here? They’ve broken out a full orchestra out there and you’re still poking away at a report that won’t be due for days!”

 

Quiet and solitude, up to a point, at least.

 

“As I have stated no less than three times already, Doctor, I find close physical contact unappealing and the frequent recreational periods the Byotians favor have taken a toll on my mental shields.  I will spend the remainder of the evening here.”

The doctor frowned, a familiar expression. He looked like he might be preparing to argue once again, but seemed to reconsider and simply rolled his eyes and threw up in hands in a gesture of defeat.

 

“Suit yourself.” He said, not quite shutting the door behind him.  Music drifted in and grated on Spock’s sensitive ears.  He began to feel irritation creep hotly into his chest at the latest of McCoy’s interruptions.  The doctor was well aware of his need for isolation and quiet after keeping close quarters for extended periods with other beings and yet he insisted on barging in at regular intervals to rave about the festivities. 

 

He needed to meditate. 

 

He stood from the small desk he had been working at to close the door in an attempt to muffle the noise of the party beyond.  He had not thought to bring his meditation supplies, nor any other personal items, as he had not planned on remaining on the planet overnight.  He had no fire pit, no small woven mat on which to kneel, no incense to burn, and very little patience left to find suitable replacements.  He finally settled himself on a cushion removed from the chair he had been sitting in and closed his eyes to begin to repair his weakened shields.

 

 

When reaching even the first level of meditation, literal child’s play, proved too difficult in his current environment, Spock found his own expression mirroring the doctor’s earlier grimace.  Even through the door and through his own well trained ability to block distracting outside stimuli, calm eluded him.  He still felt the exhaustion of maintaining steadily weakening shields against the onslaught of emotions broadcast by the mildly telepathic Byotians.  He still felt the hot intensity of his irritation with McCoy, who never did respect his boundaries even under better circumstances.  Even aboard the ship, Spock endured the doctor’s barrage of insults and constant jabs at his logic on an almost daily basis.  They worn away at his stoicism like a sandstorm, prompting unprofessional and decidedly unvulcan retorts.  Spock was no stranger to unpleasant behavior directed at his person, but Leonard McCoy’s particular brand of borderline xenophobic remarks seemed to cut especially deep.

 

Dwelling on such feelings was illogical.  What McCoy personally thought of him was of no consequence as long as the doctor continued to obey the chain of command.  In his compromised state, Spock found himself unable to put aside the subject of McCoy’s distaste for him.  He recalled speaking to the Captain about his concerns, requesting the conversation be kept off the record, as was a personal matter.  Jim had seemed unconcerned, even amused, by Spock’s concern that the doctor might be harboring xenophobic tendencies, something unbefitting of the Chief Medical Officer of a starship. 

 

_“Bones? Xenophobic? Spock, please don’t tell me you’ve never had the pleasure of hearing his famous pregnant Gorn story. The man single handedly delivered octuplets. Eight baby Gorn, Spock. Eight. You know they’re born with full sets of teeth, right?”_

_“I’m aware of the physiology of newborn Gorn, Captain.  My concern is not with the doctor’s professional competence, hence my request that this discussion be kept off the record.”_

_“You’re upset because of all the ‘hobgoblin’ stuff.”_

_“You must admit it’s rather crude.”_

_Jim had laughed then, reaching out to pat Spock’s shoulder in what Spock assumed was meant to be a reassuring gesture._

_“Bones is Bones. He’s never been one for subtlety and he can come across as kind of an asshole sometimes.  But trust me on this, the man doesn’t have an ounce of cruelty in him.  If he really had a problem with you, he’d be ignoring you, not seeking you out to have epic arguments every spare chance he gets.”_

Despite Jim’s reassurances, Spock remained disquieted by the doctor’s extensive repertoire of insults that ranged in category from the color of Spock’s perfectly normal Vulcan blood to his equally normal pointed Vulcan ears.  Jim’s argument in McCoy’s defense, that the man would simply ignore Spock rather than purposely seek him out if his feelings were truly negative in nature, did make a certain amount of sense.  However, in Spock’s experience, it was often unwise to attribute the same logic that governed the universe to the behavior of Leonard McCoy.

 

He abruptly pulled himself away from his musings, wary of further damaging the delicate membrane that was left of his emotional controls.  His meditation attempts foiled for the evening, an early repose seemed the most sensible remaining option.  After dimming the lights as much as he felt safe in an unfamiliar environment, Spock laid down on one of the long soft couch-like objects that he had deemed acceptable as a temporary bed and focused on allowing his heart rate to slow slightly to a more restful state.

 

~~~

 

A crash sounded through the halls of the Byotian high counsel chambers.  The yelling that followed roused Spock from sleep a mere two hours into his rest, according to his time sense.  Instantly on alert, he swung his legs down to pull his boots on and groped beneath the couch for his communicator.  Before he’d taken his first step towards the door, he heard a frantic knock before a red shirted crewman opened the door without waiting for a response. 

 

“Commander, we need you out there immediately!” the frightened looking ensign said, eyes wide and skin pale. 

 

Spock was already out of the door by the time the ensign had finished speaking, leaving the frazzled redshirt to dash after him down the corridor.  As they neared the reception hall, the sound of shouting became louder.  The voice of Lieutenant Carson was demanding an explanation from a flustered and concerned sounding councilwoman who sounded unable to answer to anyone’s satisfaction. The crowd had gathered towards the far right side of the large room, being warned back from the object of all the commotion by the armed Enterprise security officers who had beamed down with the away party. 

 

“What happened here?” Spock demanded, addressing both Carson and the Byotian councilwoman.

 

“That’s what we’re trying to figure out, sir.  No one seems to know exactly what happened. Apparently no one saw a thing, except Councilwoman F’rll.” Carson said, casting a suspicious eye on the highly agitated councilwoman.

 

“It was a mistake. We didn’t realize it would be harmful, you must understand. It is something even the youngest children are exposed to!” she said as she tugged at her robes.

 

“You will explain exactly what has transpired.” Spock repeated.

 

The councilwoman waved in the direction of the phaser armed security team before dissolving into the soft chirping sounds that were the Byotian version of distressed tears.

 

The security officers immediately parted to allow Spock through.  He would later blame his emotional reaction to the scene before him on his weakened control, although nothing would excuse the few seconds of hesitation he experienced before reaching for the communicator at his hip. 

 

“Comms are still down, sir. The ion storm hasn’t let up yet. We’ve been hailing since it happened.” Said the crewman kneeling by the figure lying prone on the floor.

 

Spock flicked open the communicator and was speaking almost before it signaled ready.

 

“Spock to Enterprise. Come in Enterprise.  Medical emergency. Request immediate beam up.  Repeat. Medical emergency. Doctor McCoy is down.”

 

The sound of static drowned out the murmurs of the crowd.   


	2. Foundations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Spock’s experience, it was often unwise to attribute the same logic that governed the universe to the behavior of Leonard McCoy.

It was an hour before Spock was able to calm the chaos into something beginning to resemble order.  In between fending off hysterical inquiries from various Byotian officials, he ordered the still unresponsive McCoy to be moved to the nearest medical facility.  He feared the move would be of little benefit to the stricken doctor, however, as the Byotians were unfamiliar with human physiology and would be able to do very little in terms of diagnosing the doctor’s ailment. 

 

It was a strange sort of irony that medical disaster would strike the only medical officer of the away party.  It irritated the already flayed edges of Spock’s control to realize that the only course of action was to wait out the storm and reestablish contact with the Enterprise as soon as possible. 

 

It would be too dangerous to attempt to treat McCoy with no way of knowing exactly what was causing his condition and yet the risk of his status deteriorating was just as dangerous.  There was no logical way to resolve the situation. Were he conscious, Spock supposed the doctor would suggest the time for logical decision making was long past and then deliver a lecture about trusting one’s “gut”.  Spock would then further infuriate McCoy by inquiring if human intestines were known for their wisdom.  The imagined banter did little to soothe Spock’s mind.

\--

 

Leonard drifted.  He wasn’t quite sure whether he was drifting through air, liquid, or nothing at all. He briefly wondered about the fact that he was entirely unconcerned with his current situation.  It was peaceful, wherever he was, and he was content to stay to be rocked gently by the ether around him.  All was well, except for the heaviness of his eyes.  He struggled to keep them open, as if he had been kept awake for days without even a taste of the brown dishwater that passed for coffee aboard the Enterprise to keep his wits about him. 

 

His peaceful surroundings seemed to urge him towards sleep, promising an end to his exhaustion.  Something nagging at the back of his mind kept him from giving in to the urge and that was at least slightly troubling.  Everything was as it should be, so why not just rest his tired old eyes for a while…

 

No. He had to stay awake. He was waiting for something, he realized.  Something important.  He wondered how he’d forgotten.  It was taking an awfully long time, though, and he was so tired.  Whatever it was, it had better hurry up. 

 

\--

 

“Has there been any change?”

 

“Unfortunately, yes. For what we can tell, the autonomic functions are beginning to slow.  At the current rate of declination, we estimate total heart failure in less than two hours time.”

 

“Has the cause of his condition been discovered?”

 

“His readings are being compared to those of one of your healthy crewmembers but the process is slow. It will take longer than he has.”

 

Spock breathed in through his nose and let the air escape past his lips in a sigh, a more emotional reaction than he would usually allow in the presence of others.  He fought the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose in frustration.

 

The Byotian medics were doing their best to make sense of McCoy’s human vital readings but they had very little to go on. And with Spock’s working knowledge of the intricacies of the human body rudimentary at best, his efforts to assist were not amounting to much. He could bandage a bleeding wound or crudely pop a dislocated limb back into its socket, but true healing was always McCoy’s area of expertise. 

 

All they could do was monitor the fallen doctor’s continually deteriorating condition and hope for the still raging ion storm to disperse.  Hope was, of course, illogical, as Spock had calculated the time until the end the storm himself.  Approximately three point two hours until the interference would dissipate enough for communication with the Enterprise to be restored.  Over an hour longer than McCoy had left to live.

 

The doctor laid absolutely still, save for the steady rising and falling of his chest as he breathed.  There was no movement behind his closed eyelids, no tell tale twitching of his limbs, nothing to give any indication that the man would suddenly wake up on his own and be no worse for wear. 

 

Yet Spock stayed at his side, watching carefully for a sign that anything of his friend had survived.  And they were friends, he realized, not just senior officers aboard the same ship or fellow scientists, but two beings who genuinely enjoyed one another’s company. 

 

It unnerved Spock to watch over the silent and unmoving man as it clashed with every memory he had of spending time in the doctor’s presence.  Leonard McCoy was everything but silent and unmoving.  His hands were never still, always finding something to busy themselves with whether it be taking the pulse of a patient or simply tapping out a rhythm on his desk. 

 

Spock would never admit to it, but he spent a sizeable amount of time studying McCoy’s hands, elegant yet well worn as they were.  The hands of a master surgeon practiced in his trade and burdened with years of experience; hands that had gently cradled beating hearts as well as touched those that would never beat again.  He’d seen those hands covered in the blood of many species, including his own.  He’d felt those hands on his own person many times, as well.

 

 He vividly remembered his first medical exam under McCoy’s service, how the man had taken one look at him and pulled on a pair of syntho-gloves made exclusively for helping dull telepathic feedback.  Spock remembered being pleasantly surprised with the CMO’s medical competency, expecting another in a long list of physicians who tended to marvel over his hybrid physiology rather than make any real attempt to understand it.  McCoy had even received commendations based on his medical research devoted to developing medical techniques to keep up with Spock’s hybrid nature.

 

Comradery hadn’t sprung into being immediately, despite McCoy’s ability to competently and skillfully provide medical attention to the half-Vulcan.  They had clashed almost viciously on many subjects and, at times, it had seemed like McCoy was deliberately going out of his way to antagonize the First Officer. 

 

They argued over the Captain’s command decisions, they fought over the correct application of the Prime Directive, and were constantly at each other’s throats over their individual reactions to such arguments.

 

Spock, like most of his race, kept emotionalism out of his decision making and was skilled at backing himself up with seemingly endless streams of factual data.  McCoy, on the other hand, took an almost directly opposite approach, exploding with bursts of passionate emotion, always confident that he could somehow appeal to Spock’s hidden human side. 

 

For some reason, Spock couldn’t remember ever being truly off-put by the doctor’s tendency towards emotionalism.  The insults hurled toward him seemed almost affectionate in nature, if such a thing were possible, and Spock, who had struggled his whole life to be at ease among other beings, found himself curiously drawn to McCoy’s loud and boisterous presence.

 

McCoy neither tiptoed around Spock’s existence nor faulted him for it.  He simply accepted Spock as he was and a sturdy friendship had grown from that foundation.  Although McCoy’s own playful insults continued, he grew increasingly belligerent towards anyone he caught speaking badly about Spock.  He tolerated no insult towards the half-Vulcan save for his own. 

 

Over the years, he had become one of Spock’s staunchest supporters, defending him from criticism on all fronts and even snapping at the Captain’s attempts at banter on occasion.

 

Indeed, Spock owed much to the man now laying disturbingly still on the bed before him. 

 

As he snapped out of his reverie, he noticed he had been left alone with the stricken doctor, a privacy curtain pulled around the bed to give the illusion of privacy despite the continued sounds of the busy medical wing around them.  Within the darkened space, the sounds were muffled somewhat, at least. 

 

The steady beep of the machine monitoring McCoy’s vital signs was comforting to the exhausted Vulcan, who realized he had been lost in his thoughts for more than half an hour. 

 

There was no visible change in the doctor’s condition.  He remained still and silent and so far removed from his normal state of being that Spock began to feel a tightening in his chest and side as his failing shields struggled to hold back a wave of grief.  He was grateful for the curtain as he was sure his face was beginning to betray him, feeling the tight feeling spreading to his forehead and his eyes burning with frustration.

 

_“Oh? Don’t tell me you’re having a_ feeling _, Spock!”_

 

Unbidden, the doctor’s voice whispered in his mind, a memory from only a short time ago.

 

The doctor, his friend, lay dying before him.  He was having a feeling.  And it threatened to overwhelm him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am very sorry for how late this update is. I had absolutely no idea this story was going to be so difficult to get out or I would have waited to post the first chapter until I at least had finished this one. Apologies to everyone I've kept waiting and I hope no one is too disappointed by this chapter after waiting patiently for so long. I hope to have this whole thing finished in another chapter or two. Thank you for your lovely comments over the last few weeks. They're the reason I've been able to keep going with this!


End file.
